The Rain had softened to a gentle, percussive murmur against the windows, a rhythm that matched the thundering of Shefali's heart. On the bed, Akshara knelt in the aftermath of her own undoing, the evidence of three men glistening on her skin like a map of pleasures traveled. Her chest still heaved, her lips still swollen, but her eyes—those dark, knowing eyes—were fixed on Shefali with an intensity that felt like a hand reaching across the room.

Abhimanyu moved first.